


Private Dancing

by Maygra



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: This one came off a discussion about dancing on the ROG-L list a few weeks ago and it percolated but never quite jelled until now...but here it is.





	Private Dancing

"Lettuce," Methos said over his shoulder and MacLeod reached into the refrigerator to pull out the washed greens, slipping the bright vegetables under his lover's elbow then sliding past him to check the sauce he had simmering on the stove. A taste and he frowned, ladling a small amount of the thick stuff onto the spoon and offering it to Methos to taste.

"Too sweet," was his partner's comment, then used his finger to catch a slight drip of sauce that lingered on his chin. Mac caught his hand and sucked the tiny taste away, eyes glinting with mischief.

"That tasted okay," he teased.

Methos rolled his eyes but he was smiling. "Maybe I should just stick my whole hand in there and stir it for a bit," he suggested. "Salt, Mac. It needs salt and basil."

"Good thing we don't have to worry about high blood pressure," Mac commented but added the suggested condiments. "You add salt to everything."

"Salt and spices are the single greatest discovery of the ages," Methos said turning back to shredding the salad greens onto plates with a combination of nuts and fruits. "Trust me...food was incredibly boring at one time. What time is it?"

Glancing at the clock on the wall MacLeod moved out of the kitchen and toward the living area. "Quarter after. Joe said he'd be here--"

"Around seven. I know, Mac, I was there." Methos scolded good-naturedly and set his preparations back into the refrigerator then glancing up to see his lover looking through their collection of CD's. "If you put in opera, you will not live to eat this dinner," he warned.

Mac grinned at him and then obscured his selection with his body. A moment later Methos looked up surprise. "That's not one of mine," he said as the alternative sound of Reuben Kincaid played through the speakers.

"No. Girl at the record store recommend it. Does she have good taste or is my ear still untrained?"

"It's good...." Methos said closing his eyes briefly to let the music, part rock, part folk, and a heavy dose of jazz, work into his psyche. The rhythm was compelling and Mac found himself fascinated as his lover started to move with the music even as he began slicing thick rounds of fresh French bread. "Your taste is definitely improving."

"Not my taste, just my horizons. You've heard them?" Mac asked returning to steal a bite of bread.

"On the radio...they are out of Atlanta. Good sounds from the south," Methos said with a smirk. "REM, the B-52's..."

"Sounds more like an elemental table than musicians," Mac said and moved past him to turn down the heat on the stove. "And you can dance to this?" he asked, eyes caught again by the subtle sway of his lover's hips as he moved.

"Given the right mood, Mac, you can dance to anything. Even opera," Methos said with a chuckle. "Spend a little time with some of the more primitive tribes of the Africa where the only music is an atonal chant they do and you will see dancing like you've never seen before, and music so unique it may well have existed at the birth of the world." his voice softened, becoming slightly distant as the music shifted to something more like a ballad.

Slipping his hands over his lover's hips Mac leaned in a bit and moved with Methos. Not really dancing, he thought, just a sway. "Can't quite see anyone dancing to the atonal chants of the monasteries I've been in."

Methos pressed back slightly. " Now that might be a challenge, I agree," he said "But I'm sure it could be done. Something formalized, no doubt."

A thought occurred to Mac and he stilled both their movements. "Do you like dancing? I mean, I've seen you dance but do you want to go sometime?"

Methos stared at him for a minute, noting the serious expression on his lover's face. "Yeah, I like to dance on occasion. I know you do as well but there aren't that many places, Mac; not that you or I would necessarily feel comfortable in, anyway. The pop edge of the gay club scene isn't quite my cup of tea, and short of at a very private party, or here, there's not a lot of choice. Can't exactly have us show up at the Kiwanis Club spring banquet and dazzle them with our combined version of the Lindy," he said. "Then of course, there's the question of who would lead," he teased.

MacLeod let his arms slip around his partner's waist and hugged him briefly. "Wherever you lead, I will follow," he said softly and kissed the spot on Methos' neck just behind his ear.

His lover's voice had dropped to a husky whisper and Methos felt the first stirrings of desire start to swell through him. A deep breath put the feelings where they could be rekindled later. Joe was incredibly understanding and accepting of Methos and Mac's relationship but even good friends had limits. "Rather have you by my side," he returned as quietly, wanting Mac to know that his words had affected him.

"So we have some time," Mac said, reaching up to pull the bread knife from Methos' hand.

"We are expecting company," Methos pointed out, turning to face his lover. "And I have seen you dance, MacLeod. I think starting this now could very likely lead to something else we don't have time for before Joe gets here." He kissed Mac softly to ease his refusal and Mac accepted with good grace, moving away to start setting the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The idea remained with MacLeod, however, but Methos' words had rung true. Some inquiries revealed any number of dance clubs and nightspots in town, but nothing that MacLeod felt particularly comfortable with after some questions. He had about decided that he would need to settle for a little private dancing in the loft if he were to gain any satisfaction for his curiosity.

Or not, he thought suddenly as the last of his students emerged from the shower and locker area just as he was getting ready to close up, obviously dressed for a night out. Paul had been taking an advanced karate class for almost a month. He was a cheerful, hardworking young man, a little older than Richie, with blonde-haired, blue-eyed good looks and he was gay. Mac had discovered it not through any actions of Paul's but in meeting the young man's lover who frequently came to watch the classes. The affection, no, love, Mac corrected himself, between the two young men was obvious and neither made any attempts to hide it despite a couple of comments from others who frequented the dojo. None of the comments were very serious but given his own current living arrangements, Mac found himself far more attuned to the hostility Paul and James seemed to accept as a matter of course. It had occurred to Mac on more than one occasion that there may be a very good reason why Paul was so keen on self-defense.

"Big night?" he asked his student with a smile, not entirely sure how to make his inquiries. Paul grinned at him and nodded.

"It's James' birthday, so we are off to dinner and dancing and whatever...he calls the shots," Paul said with a chuckle.

Mac nodded and then decided there was no other way than to dive right in. "Where do you go dancing?" he asked.

"Usually at Backstreet -- it's a mixed bar down off the river, great music and no cover. Drinks are watered but since neither of us drink, it doesn't matter much."

"Mixed?" Mac asked, interested in the culture Paul lived in regardless of his other reasons.

"Straights and Gays," Paul said, caught a little off-guard by MacLeod's questions. "Why? Feel up to a night on the town?" he asked.

"Thinking about going dancing but I don't really know that much about the night life for all that I've lived here for awhile. Most of what I have done has been at private parties, banquets and things."

Paul gave it some serious thought. "Kind of depends on what you want. Backstreet is fairly young, top 100 on the alternative and rock charts with some remixes thrown in. I don't go in for the fancy stuff. Is that what you are looking for?"

Mac hesitated only the barest moment. "I want to take Adam dancing," he said. "I'm not quite sure about the type of music, though. Or the type of club."

Another huge grin split Paul's face. "I'm impressed! I mean I know you two are together but you keep it so quiet. Adam might like Backstreet but I have a better place, a little less...uhm, open? I don't think you would be particularly comfortable with some of the more out gay bars and clubs." Paul said and Mac chuckled.

"Am I that easy to read?" he asked.

"No, not really," Paul said seriously. "But you aren't twenty something either, Duncan. And I don't need to read the plaques on the wall to know you have a position in the community. Not to mention the positions you two hold at the University. Plus...well," he hesitated and Mac prodded him with a raised eyebrow. Paul shook his head with a wry smile. "It's just that...well, you two have to be the straightest couple I've ever met. I am usually pretty perceptive about that kind of thing but it took me weeks to figure out that you two were more than friends...even with Adam living here. Anyway, there is a place called the Pharr Library...over on Pharr Road and Kelton, bottom of the old bank building there."

"I know the area," Mac admitted.

"It's private and...discrete, but not stuffy and the music is good. The drinks aren't watered but it is pricey if you want dinner and drinks." Paul reached into his wallet and pulled out a small blue edged card. "Here's a pass. Mid-week is less crowded but it never is overly busy."

"What's the dress?" Mac asked, suddenly excited by the prospect.

"Whatever. You won't find any extremes there, no leather and no dark rooms," he said and laughed at the obvious look of relief on MacLeod's face. "So, you can wear anything from suits to jeans. Like I said, it's private. If you call ahead you can have dinner ordered -- the food is really good."

"Are you a member?" Mac asked and Paul shook his head with another laugh. "Too rich for my blood. I work there!" he said. "Wednesday through Saturday. Let me know when you are coming and I'll take care of the arrangements if you like."

"That would be great," Mac said with genuine appreciation. "Tomorrow to soon?," he asked. Paul assented enthusiastically and then his attention was diverted as his lover entered. James was also dressed for an evening out although he usually was better dressed than his partner. Vaguely Mac recalled that James worked for the city in some capacity or another. He was several years younger than Paul, maybe twenty-one and was on the slight side, looking very small next to Paul's more muscular build, but there was a harder edge to his demeanor than to Paul's; more cautious, for all that he was friendly enough with MacLeod. Dark hair cropped short set off a pair of dark brown eyes that met Mac's straight on whereas Paul was more likely to look away. Other than the polite exchange of greetings, though, James seemed in little mood for conversation and the couple left relatively quickly, Mac locking the dojo up behind them.

The downstairs secure, Mac headed up, finding his lover on the sofa, papers spread out over the coffee table and sofa. Seeing Mac, Methos leaned back with a groan. "I now remember why I much prefer the roll of student to teacher," he said. "I am in mid-term hell!" he complained and then rose, shifting papers back onto the table before moving to accept the beer MacLeod offered.

"When is this batch due?" Mac asked as they moved together to the sofa. He picked up the papers and laughed out loud. "You did this to yourself. Why not give them a test instead of requiring an essay?"

"Because despite the relative intelligence of my oh, so eager, students, their ability to express themselves, either verbally or in writing, leaves much to be desired," Methos sighed. "It's a linguistics class, Mac. Three days of mangled verbal exhibition would be more that I could take and multiple choice doesn't quite cut it when you are talking about languages no one uses any longer. All they had to do was relate a popular myth...I don't think I will ever be able to watch 'Star Wars' again having now read Ms. Molly Hutchins' summary of the plot in Greek....it's really frightening." He sipped at his beer and leaned back, picking up another paper.

"When are they due?" Mac asked frowning slightly at the amount of paper in front of his lover. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Grades are due Tuesday so I will have to work through the weekend to have them done by Monday morning I suppose," Methos said and rolled his eyes in MacLeod's direction. "And while I appreciate the offer, as I recall your modern Greek is pretty abysmal -- I think it too much to hope that your ancient Greek would be much better," he said with a smirk.

Mac made a face at him and rolled off the couch to start dinner. He had to call Methos twice when it was ready, his lover's mind a million miles and several thousand years away. Methos' dedication to his students was not something Mac wanted to subvert but he wasn't willing to completely surrender the idea he had hatched with Paul either.

"Any chance I can steal you away from mid-terms tomorrow night?" he asked as they started in on the salads he had fixed.

"For a couple of hours maybe," Methos said with a shrug. "What's up?"

"I thought...a night out. Kind of our own mid-term celebration."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to?" he asked and then sat back as the most incredible blush stained MacLeod's tanned cheeks.

"I wanted...I made plans to take you to dinner and...."

"And?" Methos prompted when Mac's voice trailed off as he toyed with his salad.

"And...dancing.." Mac said finally and lifted his eyes hesitantly to see his lover's reaction.

Methos had to clamp down hard on his initial reaction, which was to laugh out loud at the expression on the Highlander's face before he managed to nod. "I think I can manage," he said and then ducked his head, unable to watch the sheer joy in MacLeod's face without laughing at his own pleasure at seeing that smile.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paul had not lied. The location of the Pharr Library was discrete and the hour, long after the bank had closed, revealed a parking lot full of upscale cars -- not the first cars and lower priced transportation of the college and twenty-something set. The greeter at the door took the card and their names, asking them to wait and offering to take their coats, a courtesy both men declined out of habit.

Only a few moments later they were led to their table, skirting the edge of a well-laid and ornate parquet dance floor. A glance around the subtly lit room revealed the other patrons of the club to be an assortment of mixed couples: men and men, women and women -- men and women were in the definite minority at the Library but not totally absent.

Dinner, ordered in advance, was served quickly, MacLeod picking out a red wine from a rather impressive collection. The club did indeed look like a library with books upon the shelves that lined the walls, the seating was comfortable, sturdy antique library chairs and low leather loveseats rather than regular chairs or booths. Most of the books were classics, poetry, or love stories -- Methos checking out those closest to their table with amused surprise.

Music played throughout and a small bandstand testified to the fact that occasionally the club had live music as well but tonight it was piped in through a rather impressive sound system. Couples moved on and off the dance floor during the dinner set then the lights altered perceptibly as drinks and desserts were offered and the club began filling as those members who came to dance but had passed on dinner, arrived.

They shared comfortable conversation throughout dinner, watched the other couples; Mac surprised he felt at ease as he did in the environment. It was not so different from other nightclubs he had gone to over the years. Not quite as posh as those he recalled from the thirties and forties nor as plastic and superficial as some of the more modern places he had been dragged to by Amanda or Richie or both. But the service was good and as Paul promised, the food had been excellent.

The music alternated between tempos and eras, modern music segueing into big band era into classics and MacLeod was aware of his lover tapping his foot under the table. Something came on Methos recognized and he nudged his partner with a grin "I thought you were taking me dancing?" he said and held out his hand. Mac covered his palm with his own and gave Methos a wry grin as they rose together, neither completely at ease but no one seemed to notice them at first. A glance around the floor revealed most couples were not following any stylized rules of dancing which heartened Mac. Somehow the idea of trying to translate the hand clasps and positions of ballroom dancing as he might do with a woman felt a little odd when his partner was the least feminine person he knew.

"You lead," Methos murmured as they stopped near the edge of the floor, his hands coming up around MacLeod's neck to rest there. However self-conscious Mac might have felt or whatever uncertainty he might have experienced in wondering just how two men could dance together publicly faded with the first press of Methos' body against his own. Granted it was neither a waltz nor the usual dancing Mac had learned over the years but his body found the rhythm in the music even as he found a rhythm with his lover.

Taking the lead or any of the even subconscious dominant games they might play at or think about faded as easily from the dance as they did in bed. Moving together was far easier than one of them trying to take the lead. His hands found a natural and comfortable position against his partner's slender hips and while the movements might not have been formalized from the ballroom dancing standpoint, they were graceful. More than one eye turned to watch them, especially when the music shifted to something with a little more tempo behind it than the ballad.

It was a slow, slightly Latin rhythm, an orchestral piece that Mac didn't immediately recognize, but then moved into with a sigh of warm familiarity. The "Maria" interlude by Bernstein. Just enough of a beat to move to, but different enough for variation and freedom of expression. Beginning with moves that let him guide his lover into a sensation of heat, of tentative passion, he let his body pulse with the picking of the violins, his feet finding a pattern which Methos unerringly matched, almost anticipating which direction they would turn and sway, hips moving in complete concert, only a fraction of an inch apart at any one time.

Methos let Mac's experience and certainty guide them, and allowed himself the intense and sensual luxury of letting his own body's long unused, but latent training and inner gift of beauty and grace simply feel the music, knowing without knowing exactly when Mac was going to turn and swerve. He was dizzy with the pure sensation of movement and sound, of warmth and closeness. The entire world existed in his body, in his hands which were so attuned to the movement of muscle under the fine cloth, in his mind which only heard the soaring music, in his eyes which saw only that dark gaze fixed so intently on him, and him alone.

The music changed and shifted to less rhythmic and more sweeping chords and Mac pulled him closer, pulling him into a tight circle of swaying steps, letting the swelling violins wash over them. By now neither of them had any thought but for the other, and the only music they were hearing was the fast pulse of blood pounding in their ears.

Mac's knee pressed between Methos' legs as they turned, the heat of their flesh, even sheathed by dark linen and cotton, was enough to make Methos lightheaded and he leaned in, closing his eyes, MacLeod's mouth catching his briefly, teasingly. The music shifted again, the romance of the orchestral piece giving way to something faster, harder.

Mac stepped away reluctantly, dark eyes dilated and his face felt as flushed as Methos' looked. Feeling the need to take a break from the intensity of emotion and physical reaction he was having from the lithe, graceful press of Methos' body to his own, Mac inclined h his head slighty, indicating they should return to their table.

Other couples moved in, the floor becoming crowded and Mac felt a hand on his arm and turned only to find his lover behind him now, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement and pleasure as he pressed close again, pelvis hot and tight against MacLeod's ass as they moved in perfect synchronicity. Methos' hands shifted to slide across his hips as Mac hesitated only briefly then reached back to pull him closer. The touch was electric, erotic and Mac had no care at all that they were in room full of strangers and the table seemed impossibly far away as he felt Methos begin to move again to the music, guiding him into the rhythm. He was vaguely aware that there were other couples as close, dancing intimately. Face to face or back to back, it mattered not as the music swirled around them. Then he felt Methos' press his lips against his neck, bending his knees slightly and forcing Mac to drop and rise to the music with him. One of Methos' hands lay on his belly to guide him, the other gripping his hip. The sudden push and press of his lover's body -- so close without actually touching -- brought to mind a similar move most often done horizontally and Mac was suddenly and blindingly hard, breath caught in that exquisite moment just before the release of an orgasm.

That would be too much, he decided in the frazzled remnants of his brain. He turned quickly, catching his lover tightly around the waist and neck. "I would just as soon not become the floor show," he growled softly in Methos' ear and his lover buried his face against his shoulder. It took a moment for Mac to realize Methos was laughing. A spike of annoyed anger was enough to ease the threatening ache in his groin, followed closely by a certain wry amusement at his reaction.

"I'm sorry, Duncan," Methos murmured, still laughing but his tone was sincere and his eyes, when he lifted his head, were wide with regret and humor. He slipped his hands up MacLeod's back, massaging the tense shoulders gently and Mac kissed him for forgiveness, pulling him closer and discovering to both his delight and chagrin that Methos was every bit as hard and affected as he was.

"I think I would rather dance with you in private," Mac said huskily as they moved back to their table carefully. "I had no idea this would be so..."

"Dangerous?" Methos asked with a grin. "Me either and I was thinking the same thing," Methos returned, expression serious but aroused, his eyes bright again but from something far more intense than amusement.

Mac slid closer to his partner, whispering as he nuzzled his neck briefly. "The only problem is, I'm not sure I can make it to the car and if I don't get you somewhere more private soon, I'm going to take you right here."

His words caused Methos to gasp softly, hazel eyes meeting dark brown in amazement and shock and a bright-eyed, flushed-cheek expression of anticipation. "I don't know anyone here but Paul and if I never seen any of these people again, I don't give a shit," Methos said urgently, clutching at Mac's hand under the table and guiding him to the button on his slacks.

"We could get arrested," Mac cautioned, biting at the lobe of his ear.

"If you are fast enough, you can fuck me before they arrive," Methos grated out, hips arching into the light brush of Mac's fingers against his groin, an edge to his voice. An edge of pain and need and Mac realized his lover was so close to coming that he might well do so without ever being touched.

"Uhm, guys..." Paul's voice broke them apart on the second try, both men tensing as if they had just been challenged to a fight. Mac managed to focus on Paul's face only when Methos crushed his fingers so tightly it actually hurt. Paul was looking a little wide eyed himself but he was fighting a huge grin. "I think if you can walk," he muttered, letting them know he was very much aware of their condition. "I can get you someplace less exposed."

"Exactly what did you put in that food?" Mac managed to tease, drawing his hand back and consciously exerting control over the throb and heat of his heart and body. He eyed a glass of ice water speculatively but he wasn't sure even that would help.

"Whatever it was, you two, or it, have this whole place ready to explode," Paul grated out, "Not that the boss is complaining -- yet," he added with a glance over his shoulder. "I told you there are no little dark rooms, but there are...private dining rooms. The boss is willing to offer you one on the house."

"Why?" Mac said before Methos could nudge him sharply.

"Because," Paul hissed but with a chuckle. "Half the folks who saw you two dancing have left to take care of their own...dance lessons. We would like to keep who is left if you don't mind..."MacLeod blushed to the roots of his dark hair and Methos leaned in his shoulder, laughing. Mac slipped his arm around him, the humor of the situation getting to him as well, despite his embarrassment. "We should go home," Mac said softly against his lover's hair only to have the long slender fingers close over his groin again with the barest touch.

"If you think we'll get that far..." Methos purred against his throat, then glared at Paul who was doing his best to keep their exchange as discrete as possible with very little help from either of the two Immortals. But discretion was rapidly fading as Paul tried to keep from letting his laugher reach disturbing levels.

"You two are worse than James and me!" he chortled. "It's ten steps away, guys!" he pleaded.

"Your call, MacLeod," Methos said huskily, eyes glinting with mischief. MacLeod had half a mind to take his lover up on his challenge, wondering if he could manage to fuck his partner before the police were called to haul them off for public indecency.

"You would think between the two of us we could find some self restraint," Mac hissed at him.

"We probably could if either of us really wanted to," Methos said softly. "Do you really want to?"

It took MacLeod about two seconds to realize he didn't. He wanted Methos now, here, and damn the consequences. Gritting his teeth he nudged his partner's hip, urging him to slide off the leather loveseat. Methos took a deep breath and moved, grabbing at his coat as Paul stepped to the side, almost blocking them from view. "Straight ahead, door on your left," he guided them and then grabbed at the bottle of wine Mac had ordered and two glasses. The hallway hid them from the rest of the patrons.

Methos reached for the knob, glancing at the sign on the door and grinning as he opened it. The name of the room was, appropriately, "Great Expectations". Paul reached in around and turned up the dimmer switch just enough for them to see the room was more like a parlor than a dining room. There was a small wet bar, a table set for two and a small deep divan of Victorian style. "There's a fireplace," Paul offered with a grin.

"Out," Mac said with as much civility as he could muster then grinned as Paul handed him the bottle and the glasses.

"It locks," Paul said, backing away with laughter and depressing the lock at MacLeod's nod before closing the door behind him.

Music from the main room filtered in and Mac set the bottle and glasses down. Methos turned to him, moving with the music as Mac reached for him, stilling him and pulling him almost harshly against him to capture his mouth, hands clutching at his partner's ass to grind their hips together. Methos met him with equal ferocity, almost desperate until they both had to pull back to breathe, shattered though their gasps were.

"This is my kind of dancing," Methos said as his mouth sought Mac's again less brutally and the Highlander had to agree that the dance of lips and tongues was far more satisfying than even seeing his lover move on the dance floor.

"I need to touch you," Mac hissed, pulling at the soft silk of Methos' shirt, trying not to give into the urge to rip the silk off the muscular frame. Methos' hands were busy at MacLeod's belt as Mac toed off his loafers and Methos did the same. Their reluctance to let their mouths part hampered their efforts until Methos caught Mac's jaw.

"We can kiss or we can get..." he said and Mac finished the sentence.

"Seriously naked..." the Highlander agreed and with one last, sweet taste stepped back and stripped as if it were an Olympic event. He beat Methos by seconds, slipping up behind him as Methos pushed his slacks off his ankles with his feet. Methos gasped and bit down on a cry of passion and surprise as Mac caught him, the Highlander's trembling erection pressed against his buttocks and lower back. One of Mac's hands slipped through the coarse curls at his groin to close over the hard length of his cock, the other sliding under his arm to finger his breast, teasing the small nipple he found.

Methos jerked at his touch, body trembling almost violently and Mac thrust against the smooth firm flesh of his lover's ass without being able to stop himself. Then Methos twisted in his arms, mouth claiming MacLeod's without warning as he pulled at MacLeod, dragging him down to the floor. Methos' hand closed over his cock and Mac arched into the grip, biting his lip.

"Now!" Methos hissed. They were both far to close for any finesse Methos pulled at him, laying back, making his wants and needs obvious. Mac's mouth was dry at the urgency in his partner's demands. Despite moisture already seeping from both his cock and his lover's, he doubted there was enough liquid available to either of them to make a dry entry anything but painful or inevitable.

But the table was close, set for two...Mac reached behind him, feeling the table cloth and pulled, startling them both as a crash of silverware and dishware hit the floor.

A cruet of olive oil and another of vinegar spilled as well, scenting the air with a sharp tang. Mac's hand closed over the oil, spilling most of it, but it was enough as he lunged for Methos' mouth again, rapidly covering both of them with the fragrant oil, his fingers deep beneath Methos' cock, feeling the strong body pressing against his touch. Methos swore, arm hooking around Mac's neck to hold on as the older Immortal bucked violently against his lover, unable to hold back his orgasm any longer. Preparation or gentleness lost any meaning as Mac moved his hand, gripping his lover's cock firmly and felt Methos writhe beneath him, skin hot and damp. A twist of his hips and a grunt and Mac was inside Methos, feeling his lover's body contract around him. It was too much too soon and Mac bit hard into Methos' shoulder, muffling his own cry as the need pulsed and throbbed, driving any last thoughts from his brain. He was subliminally aware of the pounding beat from the dance floor beyond, his body matching the rhythm of that beat without conscious will as he drove home, pumping into his lover's body without restraint, feeling Methos' spine curve under the force of their joining.

Methos could only hang on, fingers tangled in his lover's hair as his body gave in to the explosion of feeling, wave after wave of liquid emotion wrenching at his senses, his strength, pulsing from his body under Mac's hand. He dragged in a gasping breath and he could smell Mac, the scent of his lover's sweat and sex mingling with his own scent and the oil and the spilled vinegar. Damp strands of silk bound his hands, the desire to be an extension of Duncan's need pulled his back up to meet every thrust, the force driving up through his spine to his brain and sending sparkles of light and color to tease his closed eyes. His own orgasm was washed away and renewed with Duncan's, the feel of heat filling him, almost burning him with the fire of it and then remaining warm and silken within him even after Duncan finally gave in to the last of his own need and collapsed against him.

Neither man was capable of moving for long moments, breathing the current priority of their existence, until Methos gently untangled his fingers from Duncan's hair to smooth the damp strands from his forehead. MacLeod lifted his head wearily, hand reaching up to catch his lover's and tangle their fingers instead.

"I wonder..." MacLeod said dropping a kiss onto his lover's belly. "If this place has a back entrance," he murmured.

"Sneaking away," Methos chuckled, sliding one hand under his head. "Not willing to brave the stares we will no doubt get if we leave through the front?"

"You are evil," Mac said with mock horror and moved, lifting himself above Methos before descending to kiss him, deeply but without the previous rush. He almost felt the stirrings of another arousal as Methos responded, answering his kiss willingly, pressing upward until he was almost sitting.

"Of course, I could start a fire," Mac said with a wicked glint in his eye, glancing at the gas logs and then rescuing the tumbled but unspilled wine. "We could drink this and then see how comfortable that couch is."

"I know where there is a far more comfortable couch and even more comfortable bed," Methos said with a chuckle, already pulling away and climbing to his feet. Mac watched him move toward the wet bar, swallowing heavily at the graceful movements of the slender body, the feel of his lover pressed against him while they danced suddenly sharp in his mind. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he set the wine aside and gathered up their scattered clothing, slipping into his pants before bringing Methos' clothes to him. He got a kiss for a thank you and then turned away, the strong scent of their recent lovemaking still clinging to his lover's pale skin. With much concentrated effort he picked up the scattered silver and broken dishes. By the time he was done, Methos was dressed, sitting on the divan to put on socks and shoes while Mac finished dressing.

They spent long minutes assuring one another they were publicly presentable once more before exiting. The club had cleared some and a glance at his watch confirmed to Mac that it was after midnight. He paused by the waiter's station on the way out and slipped a hundred dollar bill and a fifty to Paul. "We...uh...there was some breakage," Mac said with as straight a face as he could manage with Methos snickering at his back. "Spilled some...vinegar on the rug. The other is for you," he added with a grin and a chuckle. "Very nice evening, Paul. Thanks for the suggestion."

"Here..." Paul said accepting the money but sliding a folded card with the club's logo on it. "The boss said...well, you are welcome back any time."

Mac thanked him without looking at the card ushering Methos out the door. A burst of laughter from behind them triggered his own and then Methos until they could barely walk. "God, I hope no Watcher followed us in there!" Mac said with a snicker as Methos unlocked the car.

"Private club...they could wait outside but not in -- I think your reputation is safe," Methos said as he started the engine and pulled the Explorer out of the parking lot. MacLeod lay his hand along the back of the seat, fingers toying with the nape of Methos' neck, feeling the muscles stretch as Methos leaned into the gentle caress.

They kept their silence, Methos needing all his concentration to get them home in one piece -- damnably difficult with the light brush and probe of Mac's fingers against his skin and his own mind kept wandering back to their dance -- both of them -- he reminded himself with a secret smile. He had watched MacLeod dance before, with Amanda, with Anne or a half dozen other belles who knew Mac to be a superb dancer. But the dance they had shared, well, Methos wasn't quite sure he wanted his lover to ever dance like that with anyone but him. Embarrassing if he was watching and the same urge overcame him again. Dancing as a mating ritual had never seemed so likely a theory as when MacLeod did it.

The dojo loomed ahead and he pulled into the side alley, waiting for Mac to join him as they took the outside stairs to the loft. MacLeod hit the lights as Methos stripped off his coat, taking his clothes off as he headed for the bathroom. Hearing the water in the shower running, Mac took more time, noticed messages blinking on the machine and played them. Nothing too urgent, that couldn't wait. Methos had left the bathroom door open and Mac grinned at the blatant suggestion, stripping as well, albeit more neatly, and found his lover already standing under the steaming water. One hazel eye peered glinted invitingly at Mac from the crook of Methos' elbow as the cooler air hit the older Immortal's flushed skin.

Showering took somewhat more time than it might have but the water was still warm when they both emerged, clean and dry, sated, relaxed and tired above all. Lights were flicked off and the bed called invitingly, both of them slipping under blankets and sheets with barely a word. Mac lay down with his head on Methos' chest, arm tucked securely around his lover's waist.

"Did you have fun?" he murmured against the pale skin.

"I did -- as if you didn't know. Fishing for compliments, MacLeod?" Methos chuckled and Mac grinned as he felt the laughter under his cheek.

"No. Just checking -- it didn't turn out exactly as I planned."

"Did for me," Methos said huskily, stroking lightly along MacLeod's back. "But I think...." he paused, drawing tight little circles along Mac's lower back with his fingers. "I think I would rather our dancing remain private." He waited, loosing the breath he had been holding when Mac hugged him tighter and relaxed against him again.

"Me too. I'm not sure I like the idea of anyone....seeing you like that but me."

"My thoughts exactly..." Methos said and Mac lifted his head, tilting his head up at his lover.

"Tell me you aren't jealous?" he said with a silly grin on his face.

"I didn't think so ...not of your time, of you..." Methos hesitated and Mac shifted to lay on his side, twisting his fingers through Methos'. "But yes. I think I am a little jealous of the idea of anyone seeing you move like that...anyone but me."

"You've seen me dance before..." Mac began. Granted, their evening's entertainment had gotten a little out of hand but this was a different reaction than what he'd expected. He had been moved, rocked, by his partner's easy grace -- as he always was. That Methos felt strongly enough about Duncan's movements was a surprise.

"Hmmm...yes, but not...I was serious when I said you could have done anything you wanted despite the audience," Methos said with a slight strain in his voice. Startled, Mac reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, laughing when he saw his partner's furious blush. "I wasn't quite sure we were going to make it to the dining room, and when you stopped...for the oil..." Laughter exploded from Methos' throat as he covered his face with his hands. "Mac...I don't think I can live through that again and I think anytime I see you dance, I am going to get an instant hard-on from now on. Gods, you were..." his voice dropped the blush fading to be replaced with a shine in his eyes that made Mac start blushing. The long fingers came out to stroke his cheek and he caught them, kissing the tips. "Beautiful..." Methos finished sighing when the words seemed inadequate to describe his feelings. "The most desirable thing in the world."

"My thoughts exactly..." Mac said softly. "But just in case...I am keeping the card Paul gave us," he added with a chuckle, turning the light back off and settling next to his lover, pulling Methos against his chest.

"What was it? Another pass?" Methos asked snuggling closer.

Mac buried his laughter against his lover's neck. "Lifetime membership," he said.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Rated NC17 for sexual situations and some language. Not quite plotless but no angst, no soul searching discussions, no bad Immies. (Yes! I wrote this! Stop that! ) The lads aren't mine, they belong to R:P/D (the concept anyway -- these boys don't belong to anyone but each other.) The Bed makes only a cameo appearance. Much gratitude to MacGeorge who is a far better dancer than I and turned what could have been a glossed-over description into something that made me hear violins. I am not making any money on this
> 
> (c) 1/98


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